Shining Star
by Leaper
Summary: Rachel's world is turned upside down when she discovers that the Next Big Thing on Broadway is the last person she expects... Even more so when she hears the story of how he got there. Written for Kurtofsky Week on Tumblr.


**AN: This is an idea I've had for a while, but never wrote until Kurtofsky Week gave me the impetus. I revised it some from my original vision, but it's pretty much what I had in my head.**

Rachel Berry was on her way... home. But she was also on her way to achieving her lifelong dreams, and that was the important part.

She was the female lead in a good-sized production, one that was about as close to Broadway as you could get without actually being _on_ Broadway. It was her big break, and no one could say she wasn't taking advantage of it, or not working her butt off. In fact, she'd been in her own little stage bubble for what felt like months — she'd get up early, study and rehearse on her own, then go to actual rehearsals, and come home just in time to sleep six or seven hours before repeating the process all over again. On non-rehearsal days, she'd skip only the third step, determined as she was not to waste this opportunity. She hadn't seen Kurt or Santana for more than a few minutes at a time in weeks, and they were her _roommates_. It was only now, with dress rehearsals in full swing, that she decided (with some pointed _encouragement_ from her director) that she needed to take a little time to herself. Thus, she strolled briskly through the streets, sipping on her iced coffee and enjoying just _being_ for once.

Rachel paused by a newsstand, considering. She hadn't opened a newspaper or Web browser for what felt like ages — who had the time? — and she suddenly felt very uninformed. She lifted her cup of coffee to her lips, wondering if she should buy a magazine and catch up on—

It was at that moment that Rachel spewed the coffee from her mouth in a high arc. It splashed down onto the sidewalk, barely missing a passing Pomeranian. Both dog and owner glared at her, but she didn't notice. She was too busy snatching a magazine from the rack and staring at it, hands trembling.

The magazine was _Broadway Revue_, one of the titles that Rachel devoured back in the days when she allowed herself free time. The face on the cover was one that she hadn't seen or thought of in years — one that she might not have recognized had it not been for the bold red lettered caption next to it:

DAVID KAROFSKY: THE UNLIKELY STAR

She almost tore the magazine apart in her haste opening it. Flipping frantically through its glossy pages, she finally found the cover story. It was as though she lost a good portion of her literacy, the words jumbled together so: _first role... __leading man... incredible new talent... rave reviews... Tony buzz... lights up the stage..._

"Hey!" A sharp voice finally gained her attention. The newsstand guy scowled at her. "You gonna buy that or what?"

Rachel threw a ten dollar bill at him and hurried off, not even bothering to wait for change. Her nose was stuck in the magazine; fortunately, living in New York had given her the native's instinct for avoiding danger while not paying attention to her surroundings in any way whatsoever.

_"It's kind of cliche," David laughs. "I wasn't even auditioning myself. I was there as moral support for my roommate. While we were waiting, she started making snarky remarks about the other guys there, and telling me I could do better than any of them..."_

Going through the turnstile... Getting on the proper subway line... Finding a seat... It was all automatic, barely acknowledged. Rachel was too lost in the article, in her wonder and shock.

_"I had a lot of help getting the part, and I still can't believe I succeeded." He smiles, the same charming smile that's won over audiences and critics throughout the show's run. "I'm still not sure I want to do this for a living or anything..."_

Rachel's jaw dropped. The last she remembered of David Karofsky was the lost teenager, sitting in a hospital bed looking like he was bearing an incredible weight on his shoulders. Now he was in New York... on Broadway... in his first role... getting reviews that anyone (including her) would kill for... and he _wasn't even sure he wanted to be an actor_?! It was so unfair.

Her fingernails dug crescents into the paper as she continued to read.

_"But it's been an amazing experience; I've had a lot of fun. It's incredible, being up on stage..."_

_Yes, it is_, Rachel thought. She was glad that he finally understood that, even if she would've preferred his epiphany had come during high school.

If only because if he really were that good, what he could've done for New Directions...!

_"... I don't think I would've gotten to where I am alone. The guy I'm seeing always tells me how good I am, but I think he's biased..."_

Rachel was actually starting to get dizzy with all these mental blows coming one after the other. David Karofsky, the terrified boy who'd engaged in a campaign of harassment against her and her friends out of the fear of being recognized as gay, who nearly killed himself when his worst fears came true, calmly and casually asserted his sexuality in a nationally read magazine.

She might've actually felt a little proud of him if she weren't so stunned.

_"I'm not sure what I'm going to do next. I've had to cut back on my classes, but I still want to finish my degree. I've already gotten a lot of offers for other shows, and I'm still sorting through them. But whatever happens, I wouldn't trade this for anything..."_

Rachel read those words just as she stepped into the apartment. Santana was lounging on the couch with her iPad, her head jerking up as Rachel breezed in. "Well, look who's here," Santana drawled. "Finally decided to show your face to the peasants, huh?"

"_Look!_" Rachel thrust the magazine into Santana's face without so much as a word of preamble.

Santana's eyes widened. She snatched the magazine out of Rachel's hands and stared for a bare instant. Then her voice, normally strident and loud, was raised into almost a screech. "Kurt! It's out! He _did_ get the cover!"

Kurt appeared in a flash of color and movement, looking over Santana's shoulder in what appeared to be sheer glee. "Ohmigod! I'm going to call him!"

"You think he doesn't already know?"

"He was _so_ sure he was going to be buried on page thirty. I can't wait to—"

"_Hold it!_" Rachel's cry brought both of the other roommates up short. They looked up to see her staring at them with wide eyes. "You two... You _knew_?" Santana and Kurt said nothing, but glanced at each other; that was all the answer she needed. "You knew David Karofsky was in New York..."

"Rachel..." Kurt began.

"And that he was on _Broadway_..."

"Yeah. So?" Santana said with a shrug.

"Why didn't either of you _tell_ me?"

Santana and Kurt glanced at each other again, this time with a tinge of discomfort. "Well..." Kurt said, his head tilted slightly and his eyes somewhat sympathetic, "there were a couple of reasons. First, we didn't get much of a chance. You've been so busy, we've barely had time to see you around, much less talk to you..."

"If I'd known...!" Rachel said, pacing the room. "Do you have _any_ idea what that could've done for my career?"

Santana rolled her eyes. "And there's the other reason," she said pointedly.

"How did this happen?" None of the people in the room were quite sure if Rachel was talking to herself, to Kurt and Santana, or to the heavens themselves. "How on Earth did this _happen_? How did _David Karofsky_, of _all_ people...?"

Kurt sighed, sitting on the couch next to Santana. "Do you really want to know?"

"_Yes__._" Rachel seated herself on a chair. "No, wait — I _have_ to know. I _must_ know."

"Fine. Santana was actually the first one to find out he was in New York. You were out auditioning for about every show under the sun..."

* * *

"Shit, Cass, you've ruined my life."

Cassidy Franklin snorted, punching Dave's shoulder. "Save the melodrama for the stage, big guy."

"I can't _believe_ I let you talk me into auditioning. How did those guys even think I was _worthy_ of...?"

"Because you were good," the willowy young blonde said simply as the two dodged the usual pedestrian crowds of New York City.

"But it's fucking _Broadway_. There has to be a thousand guys out there better than me..."

"Maybe, but none of them were auditioning that day. That's the important part."

"And now they want me to...!" Dave groaned, his fingers clutching at his hair. "I have no idea what to do for this callback...!"

"Just do what you did for the audition. They'll be giving you material from the actual show, so you won't have to worry about preparing anything."

"Yeah, but then, there was no pressure. I was _sure_ they wouldn't look twice at me. But now...!"

Cassidy's eyes twinkled. "You're pretty nervous for someone who doesn't want to be a stage actor."

Dave glared. "I'm in this now. I didn't want to be, but you made me, so I'm in this. And I'm gonna do my best, even if it's a total distraction from—"

He was looking at Cassidy as he spoke, the two automatically turning towards their favorite indie coffee shop. Thus, he didn't see the person coming out the door until it was too late.

"Shit! Watch where you're going, you—!" The young woman looked up, her annoyance changing into shock. "Dave...?"

"S-Santana...?"

* * *

"... So we ended up talking," Santana said. Rachel would never know just how casually Santana edited out the content of a lot of what she said that afternoon, the gratitude and the guilt.

* * *

"I should've..."

"It's not a big deal, San."

"No, it is. There's no excuse..."

"I seem to remember you dealing with a lot of shit yourself then. And then there was Quinn, one of your best friends, getting into an accident around the same time..."

"Stop being so fucking noble..."

"Noble? Me? Shit, I'm as noble as you are. If it makes you feel any better, I kind of hated you for a while for not helping me..."

"Yeah, it does. I think."

"But I've had a lot of time since then to think about it. And talk it over with a therapist. You're not my keeper, and it's not fair to expect you to do anything for me..."

"That doesn't change whether I should have or not."

"Doesn't matter either way. I'm fine now, San. Seriously, I am. And just knowing that you're happy that I am is enough."

* * *

"He's finishing up a degree at NYU..."

"It said that in the article," Rachel said impatiently. She shut up as Santana fixed her with a black look.

"... And he brought up the callback. I said that I knew someone that could help him..."

"Kurt?" Rachel gasped. "He didn't know you were roommates with Kurt?"

"I didn't tell him. I knew he wouldn't come if he did."

"But... why?"

Santana shrugged. "You were busy, and if anyone could get Dave ready for that callback, it's Kurt. You know that."

Rachel frowned. "You just wanted to see what would happen, didn't you?"

Santana smiled innocently. Kurt rolled his eyes.

* * *

"Okay, promise me again?"

Santana groaned. "I _told_ you, the roommate who's going to help you is _not_ Rachel Berry."

Dave sighed in relief. "Good." Santana was just unlocking the door when a memory tickled at the back of Dave's mind. He would never figure out just why it hadn't occurred to him before. Probably because he spent so long trying to _forget_ that he'd actually almost succeeded.

But when the door to that apartment swung open, everything came back in a warm flood, summed up in one stark memory: _he always said he wanted to go to New York and be a star_. Just as his mind was telling him to _run_, Santana reached back without looking and grabbed his hand. The fact that she knew to do that just deepened the suspicions that were forming in his head, but things were moving too fast — much too fast — for him to even process his thoughts, let alone act on them. Santana seemed to be making sure of that.

"Hey! I'm home! And I brought the guy I told you about!"

"Finally!" The high pitched voice emanating from the back rooms sent chills through Dave's spine, for many reasons. "I've been thinking over what you said about his vocal range, and I think I've found the perfect—" Kurt Hummel emerged, looking down at a pile of sheet music in his hands. He looked up, and his and Dave's eyes met for the first time in years.

Santana's grip tightened.

The sheet music slipped out of Kurt's hands and drifted like feathers onto the floor.

* * *

"That wasn't very nice of you, Santana," Rachel said flatly.

"Duh."

"You know what happened in high school!"

"Better than anyone besides them. And yeah, it was _high school_. Water under the fucking bridge."

"You had no right to make that decision for them!" Rachel snapped. Kurt's face lit up in a mixture of surprise and pleased agreement. "What if they hadn't parted on good terms? What if—"

"You just don't like the idea of Dave Karofsky having been here."

"Yes! I mean, no! I mean..." Rachel threw up her hands. "I was never close to him like you two! _I _don't know if he's changed since high school..."

"He has," Santana replied. "We all have." She raised an eyebrow. "Most of us, anyway."

"I'm surprised Kurt let this happen! Do you have any idea—"

"Calm your tits," Santana said. "Things turned out fine, didn't it? Like I knew they would."

"No thanks to you, I'm sure," Rachel huffed. Kurt's nod of agreement only stopped when Santana looked back at him.

* * *

"I'm so sorry, David," Kurt said. Santana had quietly left the apartment several minutes before; neither noticed.

"Jesus Christ, what the fuck is it with you people apologizing to _me_? After everything I did to you, you think you owe me anything? Well, you don't."

"I just... I promised to be your friend, and I lied to you, at the most vulnerable time of your life. But things were kind of tough then, and I was just so wrapped up in my own life and what was happening to me that by the time I could catch my breath and remember... It was too late. I was ashamed. I knew I couldn't contact you again without looking like..." Kurt stared down at his worrying hands. "But that shouldn't have mattered. For all I knew, I was abandoning you, leaving you with no one."

"I wasn't alone. I had my dad, my brother..."

"But I didn't know that!" Kurt wiped his eyes on his sleeve. "I'm sorry," he repeated.

"For what? For putting yourself first?"

"No! I'm apologizing for making promises that I didn't keep!"

"Did you intend to keep them?"

"Of course I did, but—"

"Then that's that, isn't it?"

Kurt looked up, his eyes shining. "I don't understand... How can you be so...?"

Dave sighed, running his hands over his face. "I'm gonna tell you what I told Santana: yeah, it hurt that you disappeared on me. To tell you the truth, it hurt a whole fucking lot." Kurt's lip trembled a bit at the words; Dave resisted the urge to reach out. "But I've had a lot of time to think and talk about it, and, well... I think it was for the best. Like you said, it was rough for both of us back then, and I'm not sure we would've been good for each other. Too much baggage, too many reminders of shit we needed to get over. We needed some time and distance... And I got it. I studied at UCLA for a while, but I heard about this degree program at NYU that sounded really good, so..." He shrugged. "Here I am."

"So are you..." Kurt swallowed. "Are you happy?"

Dave paused, considering. "I'm getting there," he said. And somehow, that felt like enough, to both of them.

"Is there anyone... special in your life?"

"What, you offering?" Dave asked with an arch half-grin.

Kurt flushed. "No! It's just that... I was wondering..."

"If I stayed out of the closet?" Dave waved off Kurt's stammered attempts at denial. "It's okay, I'd be wondering the same thing if I were you. Nah, I'm single. I dated a couple of guys, but it didn't really work out." He drilled a stare at Kurt that made the other man feel a bit uncomfortable. "You really want to make it up to me? Even though you have nothing to make up for?"

"I do, David," Kurt said firmly. "Anything. Name it."

"Then help me get ready for that callback. I'm as nervous as fuck, and even if I don't get a part, I don't want to fucking embarrass myself..."

The grin that spread over Kurt's face was almost evil, and for a moment Dave was wondering if he'd made the worst decision of his life. "Don't you worry, David. By the time I'm done with you, Broadway is going to be your bitch."

* * *

"And you didn't mind helping him?"

"Of course not. I don't know why none of you ever believed me when I said I forgave him—"

"No, I mean, you were training your _competition_!"

Santana barked a sharp laugh. Kurt shook his head in exasperation. "We're hardly competing for the same roles, Rachel. We have completely different vocal ranges and physical types..."

Rachel gasped. "Wait, this means... _you_ made him the hot new Broadway star?!"

Kurt smiled smugly. "Well, not to be egotistical..." Santana laughed again; he shot her the evil eye. "But I like to think I helped him along. Though it was David's talent that came through for him in the end. And I was hardly alone..."

* * *

The regimen Kurt came up with reminded Dave of Army boot camp. Kurt would be training his voice. Santana would be drilling him on dance. Kurt's friend Adam would be critiquing his acting. (Adam was a nice guy; he actually dated Kurt for a while, a fact which gave Dave twinges of something he didn't want to think about. Kurt and Adam had broken up a few months previous, but remained close friends. Kurt had been quiet about the circumstances, so Dave didn't push, but he gathered that it was "complicated" and had at least tangentially to do with Blaine Anderson, which just made him loathe the guy even more.)

"You have natural talent," Kurt had said. "But then, we all do, to some extent. What you need to do is hone it into something that'll kill that director dead. You said you did some performing after high school?"

"Yeah, a little at UCLA, but just for fun. Nothing like fucking _Broadway_."

"Doesn't matter. What matters is that you at least have a little idea of what you're trying to achieve. Very little, admittedly, but that's what we're here for."

"I'm a complete amateur at this. Do I really have a shot?"

"The odds of anyone getting a major Broadway role if their name's not Hugh Jackman are pretty small. But you got this far, and it's a hell of a lot farther than most people get. You're already charmed, David; we might as well see where that gets you. As long as you take our instruction seriously, I think we might have a chance."

To Kurt's mild surprise, Dave took it all _very_ seriously, with an almost Rachel-like intensity. In comparing notes later, it seemed like he was spending every spare moment he could with either him, Santana, or Adam, doing scales or learning new dance styles or memorizing lines.

One thing they all agreed on: Dave was remarkably good. Kurt and Santana both had an inkling of it, from that performance in high school, but here, now, he was proving it every time he met with one of them. "Are you sure he hasn't done more than he's telling you?" Adam asked one evening. "Because he seems to be taking to this a lot better than any amateur I've ever known."

Kurt thought back to that fateful halftime show: how Dave ran out onto that field, the most genuine smile he'd ever seen on the boy. How Mr. Schue later let it slip how talented he thought Dave was. Kurt wasn't sure it was the first time that he'd realized how different perception and reality were when it came to Dave Karofsky, but it was close.

* * *

"_Though he's new to the stage, his love of it shines through with every line, every note, every step._" Rachel put down the magazine, shaking her head in wonder.

"What, you didn't see it?" Santana said. "Back in high school? The championship game?"

"I just thought... I don't know what I thought! I just..." She rubbed her forehead and flopped down on the couch dramatically. "I don't think I can take any more surprises!" Santana and Kurt glanced at each other again, setting all sorts of alarm bells ringing. "Oh, God, there's more!"

"Well..." Kurt began reluctantly, "you're going to find out sooner or later..."

"Just tell me already!"

* * *

Dave was laughing, almost hysterically, as he swept Kurt up in his arms. "I got it! I got it! The fucking lead! I can't fucking believe it!"

"Congratulations, Dave!" Kurt cried, a little giddy himself. "I knew you could do it!"

"I couldn't have done it without you guys! I... I don't know what to say..."

"Well, you contributed most of the effort. We couldn't have done anything if there was nothing to work with."

Dave tightened his embrace. "Thank you so, so much..." Kurt was just about getting used to the pleasing warmth when it vanished; Dave was holding him at arm's length, a horrified look on his face. "Oh, God, I'm gonna be performing on Broadway. What if... what if I'm not good enough? What if they laugh me off the stage? Do they still throw tomatoes...?"

Kurt laughed. "Dave, calm down! Nobody would have cast you if they thought you were going to be a disaster. Besides, that's what rehearsals are for. Look, if it makes you feel any better, you can keep on meeting with us to hone your skills."

"That'd... that be great." Dave's eyes flickered towards the floor. It was an expression Kurt hadn't seen for years, not since high school...

"Dave, what is it?"

"I, uh..." he swallowed audibly. "I wanted to thank you properly. For putting up with me. For helping me. For being there for me."

Kurt found himself also swallowing. "It... it was my pleasure, Dave. We're friends, remember? We decided to take another shot at that..."

"Yeah, about that... I... I want..." He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them, along with his mouth, and a rush of words flowed out. "I want to take you out to dinner."

Kurt gaped. "What?"

"To thank you. Only I don't want to invite Santana and Adam and would you go out to dinner with me?"

Kurt continued to gape.

* * *

Rachel gaped. "No!"

"Yes!" Santana cackled.

"The guy he's seeing... is _you_?"

Kurt nodded sheepishly.

"You're _dating David Karofsky_?!"

"Well, it's not exactly dating... Not yet anyway..."

"After what he did to you?!"

Kurt bristled. "What, am I not allowed to forgive acts against me? Because if that's what you're saying, maybe we should look up Sunshine Corazon sometime..."

"I'm not saying that you _can't_, I'm saying that I'm surprised you _did_."

"It was a long time ago," Kurt said softly. "It's like it happened in another world." Rachel nodded; she'd felt it too. Living in the buzz and excitement of New York made Lima seem like some kind of distant dream. "Do you think I'd associate with him willingly for a moment if I thought he'd do anything _resembling_ what he did again? And... I realize there's a lot still hanging between us that we're both responsible for, and Adam is still fresh... That's why I said we're not exactly dating. But..."

"But you want to someday," Rachel finished.

He nodded. "I gave him that chance... and that's all he needed to worm his way in..."

* * *

When they met for dinner, Dave's hand was clasped gently over his, rough and warm, as he talked about his gratitude for Kurt's help, despite their history. But this time, the gesture was casual, without the slightest hint of fear or reluctance, without a single glance over his shoulder to see if anyone was watching. It was sincere, free from inhibition. That was the moment Kurt realized just how much the man on the other side of the table had changed, in a way that his openness and his Broadway audition didn't.

Kurt knew what a relief it was, to be able to talk and be without masks or barriers. And talk they did — for hours at a time. But never about the past, never about Lima; only about the now — their jobs and loves and friends — and the future — their hopes and plans and dreams.

By the end of dinner, other than that one gesture, Dave hadn't done or said anything flirtatious; Kurt wasn't sure if he was relieved or not. They parted as friends, nothing really changed... Or so it seemed at the time.

As rehearsals for Dave's show started and his antsiness grew, Kurt never gave empty reassurances, instead asking Dave what he wanted to improve on and setting aside time to practice whenever he needed it.

In the down times, he was there just to listen to Dave rant and bitch about prima donna castmates and dictator-cum-directors. He listened as Dave spoke in awe about the sheer amount of talent around him and about how small he felt being in the middle of it all...

It seemed that Dave still had a little knot of insecurity in him, no matter how much he protested otherwise. It had been within him in high school — maybe it would always be with him. But as Kurt listened to Dave, eyes shining and arms waving around expressively as he recounted the latest rehearsal disaster... He sensed that knot was loosening, every day, bit by tiny bit.

And, of course, Kurt was there opening night, sitting between Adam and Dave's roommate Cassidy, who got along famously with Santana from the moment they met. He'd seen a lot of performances, of course, both live and broadcast, but this... Seeing Dave on stage was something like a revelation, despite the amount of time they'd spent together. The sheer _intensity_ that Dave brought, throwing everything he had and more into the role... It almost literally took his breath away, even as he couldn't help but think, with some pride, _I did that. I helped make that._

The roar from the audience when Dave came out for the curtain call nearly shook the seats. Kurt was disappointed to not be the first on his feet; he was beaten by several rows of people. Dave blinked for a moment, frozen, as if in disbelief. Kurt was barely able to see one of his castmates gently prod him from behind; that seemed to snap him out of it. He strode confidently downstage, took the hand of his female lead, and bowed low. Kurt's hands ached from clapping so hard, even as Santana and Cassidy belted out deafening whistles.

After the show, he had no illusions that he'd be able to make it backstage. But somehow he did; the guards and stagehands let him by without a word. He threaded his way through waves of excited cast members and bustling techs until he managed to find Dave's dressing room door. He threw it open without even thinking... to behold a shirtless Dave halfway out of his costume pants.

"Ohmigod!"

"_Christ_!"

Kurt slammed the door, his face burning, unsure whether he was more embarrassed at his thoughtlessness or the sheer _trite__ness_ of his idiocy.

"Jesus fuck, Hummel!" Dave's muffled voice roared from the other side of the door. "Is just barging into dressing rooms without fucking knocking a Broadway thing?"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" He was desperately trying to drive the mental image from his mind, trying not to remember Dave's _body_ and...

_He's been working out..._

_Stop it!_

There was a slight pause before: "Okay. _Now_ you can come in." Kurt sighed and opened the door once more. Dave stood in the exact same spot, this time fully dressed in street clothes, his face red. "So." His voice was low now, his eyes not on Kurt's face, but on the floor. "What did you think? Of my performance, I mean?" he added quickly, as if afraid he would sound like he was referring to... something else?

_Oh_.

Kurt quickly spoke, mostly so he wouldn't have time to _think _or _remember_. "What did I—? David, you really are going to have to get a healthy ego if you're going to be on Broadway."

"That doesn't answer my question."

"How can you even ask that? Did you _see_ that audience? Did you _listen_ to them? They _loved_ you!"

"They don't matter." The simple, quiet declaration brought Kurt to a standstill. "I want to know what _you_ thought."

Kurt sniffled, unsure what he was feeling and thinking at the moment. "Fine. I thought you were a little distracted in the Act II finale..."

Dave sneered. "Well, excuse me for being a little nervous..."

"And you almost missed your cue in the third act..."

"You noticed?"

"I notice everything, Dave. And there are a few other notes I'll give you later. But otherwise..."

Kurt wondered whose heart he could hear pounding: Dave's or his own. "Yeah?"

"You were... wonderful. Incredible. If I didn't already know you, I would've thought you were a hardened professional."

Dave rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "Geez, uh... Th-thanks."

Kurt shrugged. "You wanted to know what I thought, and I'm telling you. And you _know_ that I never pull any punches."

"Yeah. That's one of the things I love most about—" Dave's eyes widened; Kurt choked a little on his own saliva. "I mean, _like_. That's what I—"

"Dave," Kurt said quietly, "you said it. I think it's a little too late to backtrack now."

Dave groaned. "I know." He practically fell onto the chair in front of his makeup table. "I fucked up so bad, didn't I? I swore I wasn't going to say that and—"

"Why not?"

Dave looked up in disbelief. "Why not? Because it's _really_ inappropriate when we've only gone out to dinner once, and we have all this history? Because it's way too soon, even if everything was perfect otherwise? Because..." He swallowed. "Because you've been a real friend to me these past few months, and I didn't want to ruin that? Because I didn't want you to feel pressured into anything? Because..." He shook his head. "There are so many reasons I don't know how to go on. But... I suppose at least you know now I meant it when I told you senior year that I loved you."

"Yes."

"I was going to say something when I took you to dinner, but I fucking chickened out, of course, as usual. I know it must've confused the hell out of you, but I knew — _knew_ — that if I'd said what I was planning, I would've blown our friendship forever, and I just couldn't—"

"Do you want to kiss me?"

Dave's head snapped up; he stared at Kurt's reflection standing behind him in the dressing room mirror. Kurt's hands were clutching the back of the chair, and his eyes were wide and mouth open, as if neither man could believe the words that were just spoken.

"What did you—?"

"Because I want to kiss you."

Dave whirled around in his seat. "But... why?"

Kurt straightened his back. "I could list all the good qualities you have — the ones I've discovered the past few months — but in the end, to be completely honest, I have no idea. It's something I want to do. Something I need to do." He stared down at Dave. "So are you going to take it or not?" he whispered hoarsely.

In response, Dave silently stood, shoving the chair away with a clatter. He took Kurt into his arms... and froze. He simply froze, staring into Kurt's eyes, as if he were suffering from delayed stage fright. Kurt knew what he was thinking: locker room, desperation, horror... But New York and Blaine had removed much of his patience for bullshit, especially from people who should know better.

He rolled his eyes. "Oh, for heaven's...!" He grabbed the sides of Dave's head and practically yanked it closer, kissing Dave as forcefully as he could. He felt Dave flail for a moment, then finally, _finally_ relax, melting into it and running his hands up and down Kurt's back.

After what seemed like forever and not nearly long enough, the two parted, their tongues returning to their own mouths. "So..." Dave gasped. "What did you think? Of my performance, I mean?"

Kurt laughed, slapping Dave in the shoulder. "Okay, now you're just fishing for compliments!"

Dave roared, and Kurt joined him. It took a few long minutes for the two to recover, for the weight of what they'd done to come crashing back down. "So..." Dave began, the word this time not bearing an ounce of the humor it'd had just minutes before.

"So..."

"What does... what does this mean?"

"Frankly... I'm not sure yet. I think... you were right before when you said we needed time and space... But I think now it's enough, and we can... reevaluate each other."

"Yeah?" Dave's breath was quick, shallow.

"But that means that I don't think we're at the relationship point yet... It's like we're getting to know each other for the first time... And it hasn't been all that long..."

Dave shook his head; Kurt couldn't tell if he was at all disappointed or not. He didn't look it. "No. It hasn't."

"I think... we should just take it slow for now. We've both been through enough that I think we both need it."

"I completely agree," Dave said with a nod.

"But at the same time... 'Slow' doesn't mean 'frozen in place,' either."

"Which means...?"

"Which means..." Kurt linked arms with Dave. "You're going to skip whatever drunken riot your fellow castmates are going to try to lure you into and go out to eat and celebrate with me, Adam, Santana, and Cassidy. By the end of the evening, we'll be fed, pleasantly tipsy, and have discussed when we can fit in our first date into your school and performance schedules."

"First... date?" Dave lit up as if all the Klieg lights of Broadway were shining on him.

"Of course. That dinner we had was a dinner among friends. It doesn't count. Now you have to actually spend some thought on how to woo me. Although..." Kurt grinned. "Considering a certain Valentine's Day... You have pretty good instincts. I hope you've improved since then."

Dave smiled. "I hope to have a lot of chances to prove that I have."

"Mm, I have a good feeling about it already."

* * *

Rachel was still staring.

"I think we blew her brain," Santana said in a loud stage whisper.

"I... I just..." She shook her head. "This is just a little hard to take in..."

"It's David's reality," Kurt said with a shrug. "He doesn't need you to believe in it. He's living it." He glanced at his watch. "I have to go. I'm meeting David for coffee, and he _has_ to see the magazine." He snatched it out of Santana's hands and started towards the door.

"Kurt...?"

Kurt whirled back with a perfect heel-turn. "Yes?"

"Is he really..." Rachel swallowed. "Could he really make you happy?"

Kurt looked thoughtful for a moment before replying, "I think he could. I think he really could." With that, he left the apartment.

Rachel stared at the closed door for a long moment after he left, Santana staring at Rachel. Finally, Rachel grabbed her coat. "Where are you going?" Santana asked.

"Back to work! I need to rehearse!" She pulled on the coat and smiled brightly. "After all, if I want to be David's next leading lady, I have prove myself worthy!"

Santana rolled her eyes and shook her head wryly as Rachel swept out.


End file.
